


The Great Pretender

by campsearchlight



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Espionage, Eventual Sex, F/M, Pining, Slow Burn, follows railroad quest line, some cute shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 17:31:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7231984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/campsearchlight/pseuds/campsearchlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking up from a 200-year cryosleep provides a great opportunity to recreate yourself.</p><p>(Hesitantly off hiatus.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Great Pretender

It had been three months. 

Three months since she left the Vault. Three months since she found herself in Goodneighbor, getting drunk in the Third Rail and listening to Magnolia croon lovingly into the microphone by the bar––on a daily basis. Three months since she decided to live her life as a standard wastelander: drunk, high, or a combination of the two. 

Two months since she gave up trying to look for Shaun. When it boils down to it, the kid isn't even her son. He hadn't been around long enough for her to grow any kind of attachment to him, either. So, why waste her time with something so fruitless?

That brought about another question: What was she doing with her time now that was more important?

This late at night, she liked to sit in her semi-permanent room at Hotel Rexford, drowning her memories with sour beer. The dog lying across her feet––whose name she learned was Dogmeat by investigating the red, embroidered bandana he had tied around his neck––raised his head.

A rhythmic knock on her door pulled her to the surface.

She set down her bottle on the bedside table and stumbled to the door, the room tilting this way and that as she went.

The person she opened the door to was completely unfamiliar to her. Tall and bald as a baby's bottom, the man smiled down at her. His eyes, though, were hidden behind sunglasses. 

_Sunglasses? At night?_ Initially, it struck her as strange. However, in a world where zombies were no longer just a science-fiction horror, she didn’t really question anything anymore. 

"Hi," he said. "Can I come in?"

She automatically reached for the pistol on her hip––and realized a second too late that it was lying in its holster on the nightstand. She scrabbled uselessly at her hip before dropping her hand to her side. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm a recruiter of sorts," he answered, but he didn’t say what he was recruiting for, "and I really think you've got what it takes to––"

She didn’t get to hear what she had, because she blacked out completely.

When she came to, she was lying on her side on her bed. The man sat in the chair against the wall, using the tip of a switchblade to clean the dirt from under his fingernails. 

She sat up much too fast. Head swimming, she reached for her pistol on the small table. 

The man snatched it away before she could grab it. "I have a lead allergy, lady. You pump me full of bullets, and I'll die."

She couldn’t help but snort. "Doesn't everybody? Hand it over."

"I'll keep it for now, thanks." He lifted his right leg to rest his ankle over his left knee. "Don't you want to know who I am and what I'm doing here?"

"Well, yeah, I guess––but I'd rather hold onto my gun."

"Just a minute." He smirked, causing her to narrow her eyes. "The reason I'm here is because––well, I'll just say it. I've been keeping tabs on you for a while now, and I think you've got what it takes to join my organization."

She blinked at him, overloaded. "Hold on. _What_? You've been _watching me_? How long?"

"A while," he repeated. "Does is matter?"

It did matter. did he know she was from a Vault? did he know she was over two hundred years old?

But, she realized it was no use thinking about that, since she couldn’t outwardly ask him––so she moved on. Cutting her eyes at him, she asked, "What organization?"

"Ever heard of the Railroad?"

She had. A rebellious group aimed toward the salvation of synths. Seemed pretty pointless to her. However, the state of her life recently was sorry, so who was she to judge what people decided to dedicate their lives to? 

"You want to recruit me into the Railroad, then?"

"If you're interested, yes. We're always on the hunt for new agents."

"So, you follow random people and judge their worth?"

He shrugged. "Basically."

She pursed her lips. "What makes you think I'd be good enough?"

"Trust me. I have a weird sixth sense about these things... and I've been watching you pretty closely."

She cursed herself for being so easy to follow. Then again, she hadn’t even set a toe outside of Goodneighbor for the past week. "What's your name?"

"You can call me Deacon. And you?"

"Shouldn't you know my name, since you've been following me?"

"Maybe I do know it."

She scoffed and mulled over a new one. "You can call me Bishop."

"Bishop, huh?" His smirk widened. "Nice to meet you. Shall we go to HQ?"

"Depends. What do I get out of saving synths?"

"A sense of goodness and rightness in the world–– _and_ you get to hang out with me, the coolest Railroad agent of all time."

She stared at him for a few long moments, wondering if she should actually go with him. 

He lifted his hands, her pistol still clutched in his right one. "It's entirely up to you, ah, Bishop."

"I'll... have to think it over."

"Oh, of course, of course," he said, laying her pistol back on the nightstand. "I'll give you... three days? Does that sound about right?"

"Um, sure, I guess."

"Alright. Three days, and if you decide you want to join, meet me at the old highway by Lexington at––let's say sunset."

Her eyebrow arched. "Sunset?"

"It's dangerous traveling at night, you know," he said. "That way, you and the fuzzy meatball here will travel during daylight hours, and you'll meet up with me by the time it gets dark."

"I think you're being a little sexist."

"Sexist? _Me_? I'm the opposite, I promise. I'm just trying to be considerate. But, we can make it sunrise the next day, if you want."

"Make it noon."

He smiled and got to his feet. "Done. Goodnight, then, Bishop. I hope to see you and your gigantic piece of lint soon."

"Hey, don't talk about Dogmeat that way."

"Dog... meat?" He laughed. "Good God, what a name. And, I'm guessing that's his real one, and not––oh, I dunno––Reverend."

Despite herself, she half-smiled. "Goodbye, Deacon."

"Until next time." He tipped an invisible hat and showed himself the door. 

When he was gone, she got up to lock the door, then turned to Dogmeat, who thumped his tail against the blanket. "What do you think, boy? Should we go?"

He cocked his head. 

She sighed, rubbing her eyes, and went to the dresser, where her backpack was stowed. She pulled out the dirt-smudged Pip-Boy and checked the time. It was nearly morning already. How long was she passed out? 

Which begged another question: How long was Deacon there, waiting for her to wake up?

 

Bishop agonized over the Railroad for two days. It got so bad, she actually set up a meeting with Mayor Hancock to get his opinion, since the Ghoul––man, she still couldn't get over Ghouls––seemed to be the most levelheaded person around. 

He sat behind his desk, his ankles crossed on top of it, a Jet inhaler lying close to his heels. "So, how long've you been in Goodneighbor, miss?"

"A couple of months," she replied, casting a nervous glance at Hancock's personal bodyguard, a redhead named Fahrenheit. 

Hancock caught the look and dismissed Fahrenheit to wait outside his office. Once she was gone, his coal-black eyes turned back to Lucy. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"Uh, well, I have a bit of a dilemma that I just... I thought maybe you could give me some advice."

Hancock lifted a gnarled hand to push his hat back on his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Who do you owe money to?"

"Huh?"

"You've been a good neighbor––kept outta the spotlight, anyway––so I'll help you out. Tell me who it is, and I'll break a couple kneecaps for ya. No charge.”

"Wait, no, it's not––it’s nothing like that." She paused to collect her thoughts. "An organization approached me... the other day. They want to recruit me, and I don't know what to do."

"Organization? It's not the goddamn Brotherhood, is it?"

" _God_ , no." She wouldn’t join the Brotherhood of Steel for anything in the world. 

"Well, if it ain't them, the only other thing I can think of is the Railroad. The Railroad approached you?"

She nodded, grimacing. 

"I say do it. If I wasn't mayor'ing this joint, I'd've joined 'em years ago."

She studied his face, confused. "That's... it?"

He waved a hand in the air near his head, his fingertips clipping the right-side point of his tricorn. "I haven't even seen you leave this place since you came. Hell, I don't even know your name. I mean—if you don't mind my saying so—what the hell are you doing with your life right now?"

The answer was _absolutely nothing_.

Bishop knew now what to do. She thanked Hancock, shook his hand, and she and Dogmeat went back to the hotel to pack her things.


End file.
